The Dead Girls Dance Page 0,12

but she couldnt help it, and after a second Eve smiled and chuckled, too. The water started boiling. In went the pasta.

can I ask?

About what? Eve was still frowning at the pasta like she suspected it was going to do something clever, like try to escape from the pot.

You and Michael.

Oh. A surge of pink to Eves cheeks. Between that and the fact that she was wearing colors outside of the Goth red and black rainbow, she looked young and very cute. Well. I dont know if itsGod, hes just so

Hot? Claire asked.

Hot, Eve admitted. Nuclear hot. Surface of the sun hot. And

She stopped, the flush in her cheeks getting darker. Claire picked up a wooden spoon and poked the pasta, which was beginning to loosen up. And?

And I was planning on putting the moves on him before all this happened. Thats why I had on the garters and stuff. Planning ahead.

Oh, wow.

Yeah, embarrassing. Did he peek?

When you were changing? Claire asked. I dont think so. But I think he wanted to.

Thats okay, then. Eve blinked down at the pasta, which had formed a thick white foam on top. Is it supposed to be doing that?

Claire hadnt ever seen it happen at her parents house. But then again, they hadnt made spaghetti much. I dont know.

Oh crap! The white foam kept growing, like in one of those cheesy science fiction movies. The foam that ate the Glass Houseit mushroomed up over the top of the pot and down over the sides, and both girls yelped as it hit the burners and began to sizzle and pop. Claire grabbed the pot and moved it. Eve turned down the burner. Right, pasta makes foam, good to know. Too hot. Way too hot.

Who? Michael? Claire asked, and they dissolved in giggles.

Which only got worse when Michael walked in, went to the refrigerator, and retrieved the last two beers from his birthday pack. Ladies, he said. Did I miss something?

Pasta boiled over, Claire gulped, trying not to giggle even harder. Michael looked at them for a second, curious, and then shrugged and left again. Do you think hes telling Shane right now that were insane?

Probably. Eve managed to control herself, and put the pasta back on the burner. Is this shock? Are we in shock right now?

I dont know, Claire said. Lets see, weve been barricaded in the house, attacked, nearly burned to death. Michael was murdered right in front of us, then came back, and we got interrogated by the big, scary vampire cops? Yeah, maybe shock.

Eve choked on another snort/giggle. Maybe thats why I decided to cook.

They watched the pasta bubble in silence. The whole room was starting to smell warm with spices and tomato sauce, a comforting and homey sort of smell. Claire stirred the spaghetti sauce, which was looking delicious now that it was simmering.

The kitchen door banged open again. Shane, this time, a beer in one hand. Whats burning?

Your brain. So, did you two girls kiss and make up? Eve asked, stirring the pasta.

He glowered at her, then turned to Claire. What the hell is she making?

Spaghetti. And technically, it was Claire mostly, but she decided not to mention it. Um, about your daddo you think theyre going to catch him?

No. Shane hip-bumped Eve out of the way at the stove and did some spaghetti maintenance. Morganvilles got a lot of hiding places. Thats mostly for the vamps benefit, but itll work for him, too. Hell go to ground. Ive been sending him maps. Hell know where to go.

Maybe hell just leave? Eve sounded hopeful. Shane dragged a piece of spaghetti out of the tangle in the pot and pressed it against the metal with the spoon. It sliced cleanly.

No, Shane said again. He definitely wont leave. Hes got no place else to go. He always said that if he crossed the border into Morganville again, he was here until it was done.

You mean until hes done. Eve crossed her arms, not as if she was angry, more like she was cold. Shane, if he goes after even one vampire, we are dead. You know that, right?

He picked up the beer bottle and drank, avoiding an answer. He flipped off the burner under the spaghetti, took the pot to the sink, and drained it with the edge of a lid. Like a real chef or something.

Which, Claire had to admit, was pretty much totally hot, the way he moved so confidently. She liked to cook,